100 Themes Challenge
by Reilly TTV
Summary: 100 ficlets, mostly oneshots with some small arcs about 1-3k words in length, based on the 100 Themes Challenge on DA. Snapshots of the Winchesters' lives from all different times - some teen!chester, wee!chester, and hurt/sick!brothers. Characters from the SPN books may appear. I hope you enjoy! I'll update daily until all 100 themes have been used!
1. 001 - Introduction

Introduction

"Sam, why don't you tell us about yourself? What do you like to do in your free time?"

As the teacher spoke, 16 year old Sam Winchester surveyed the classroom nervously. This was the third high school (or was it the fourth?) that he had enrolled in that year. Staring idly back at him were a handful of stoners, some preppy looking girls, some keeners up in the front row, and three of big guys lurking in the back like gorillas.

Sam gulped, wondering how in hell he could be so nervous when this was the third (or fourth?) time he'd done this all year. He spoke after an awkwardly long pause.

"Uh, I'm Sam… and I like… reading…" he spoke with pauses, unsure of himself, and immediately wishing he could change his choice of words. The gorillas in the back snickered and the preppy girls rolled their eyes.

Great, the first words out of his mouth already got him a label, a practical target on his back. Sure, Sam could and would stand his ground in a fight – the tall lanky boy was starting to fill out with a fair amount of muscle – but he hoped that he wouldn't have to.

"Take your seat, Sam, thank you," the teacher smiled as she gestured to the only open seat – right in front of the biggest gorilla in the class.

Sam sighed and went to his seat, setting down his books on the desk and sitting down. He slumped forward and propped up his head by resting his chin in his right hand. The boy tried to focus on the English lesson being taught but the goon behind him kept kicking the back of his chair.

Thud. Thud. Thud. Kick. Kick. Kick.

The young Winchester turned and shot a glare at the kid behind him, who feigned shock and said in a loud whisper:

"What're you gonna do about it, nerd?"

Sam let out an angry huff and turned back around. He could hear the goon talking to his other goon "friends" behind his back saying things like "get a haircut" and "what a loser", and various mocking voices of his awkward introduction.

By the end of class, Sam was bubbling with anger and frustration. When the bell rang to signal the end of first period, the boy was the first one up and out of his seat, headed for the door. To Sam's misfortune, the three hulking boys that had tormented him all period were blocking the way out of the room. The teacher had gone out of the room as well. The shaggy-haired boy closed his eyes for a moment and le out another huff.

"Move," the word was meant to come out with some force behind it, but Sam's voice came out small and shy. He swallowed as the bigger kids laughed and sniggered away at him, then spoke again.

"Move."

Sam must have glared with some fire in his eyes, and the slightly-less-hulking boys started to back off. They were more sensible than their supposed leader.

"Come on man, back off, it's his first day," said one of them.

The leader scoffed.

"Leave him to me, then."

He stepped forward, swinging a fist, but he was slow and Sam dodged it by ducking out of the way. He brought his own fist up and hit the bigger boy square in the jaw. He staggered, and Sam smirked. His brother Dean would be proud.

He must've gotten a little stuck on that thought because a fist colliding with his nose, giving a crack, snapped Sam out of it. Hot blood rushed down his face and Sam straightened himself back up, looking the gorilla of a kid in the eye, sizing him up for another punch.

"BOYS!" came the shrill cry of the English teacher from the hallway, just outside the door. How much she had seen, they didn't know, but the bigger boy fled the scene.

Sam stood alone at the front of the class, clutching his throbbing nose with one hand as blood dripped into it.

"Sam, why did he attack you?" asked the teacher with a concerned not in her voice.

"Told him to move…" came Sam's muffled reply from behind his hand.

The teacher clicked her tongue and shook her head. "Go to the nurse's office, do you know where that is?"

Sam nodded, as he had seen it on his way into the school that morning. The bell rang to signal the start of second period as Sam walked into the clean, white nurse's office. He felt a little guilty for leaving drops of blood down the hall on his way there. The nurse had Sam call his emergency contact as he would have to go to the hospital, since it had been about ten minutes and the bleeding hadn't stopped.

Sam opted for calling Dean rather than his father, knowing that Dad would be angry with him, like he always seemed to be.

Luckily, Dad was busy off investigating something, so Dean came to pick up his brother on his own in their car. Sam was feeling pretty lightheaded at this point, and he absently wondered how hard that kid must've clocked him.

"Sammy," came Dean's baffled voice. "The hell happened?"

"Fight… I got him though, right in the jaw," Sam replied as he slid into the shotgun side of the Impala.

"Well, I have some good news for you little brother, we'll be done here in about a week…"

"A week!?"

Dean shook his head as he drove. "You can skip out on school, man, don't worry. Oh, and try not to bleed too much on the car."

Dean was right and in a few days, the Winchesters were out of that town and headed onto another one. Wherever Dad went, they went… Hunting was the family business after all, and monsters were hiding everywhere. The younger brother wished for a different life, and had no idea what life really had in store for him. Not one.


	2. 002 - Love

002\. Love

The motel room door slammed shut and Dean groaned loudly in frustration. At the age of 12, he figured he was old enough to go hunting with his father, but Dad disagreed and there was a heated, loud argument to be had about it. Now Dad had left, driving off into the dark with his weapons and his bad mood.

Dean turned from his position on the other side of the door and made his way to the dingy sofa, where he flopped down. He closed his eyes and let his anger towards his father simmer. He knew full well what his dad was doing, so why wouldn't he let Dean help him? He just wanted to prove himself, but Dad wouldn't even give him a chance. It was complete bull-

"Dean?"

Came a small voice from one of the beds in the small room. It was Sam, eight years old and oblivious to what the Winchester family business was. He had heard his dad and brother fighting and it had woken him up... He had got to thinking something and he needed Dean to tell it to.

Dean let a small smile pass his lips as he sat up and sighed. It only took his little brother to bring him from his place of anger. And though they fought like any boys would, Dean had a deep sense of care and protection over his Sammy.

"What's up, Sammy?" Dean asked as he sat down on the too-soft mattress of the bed Sam was tucked into. "It's the middle of the night, you know."

Sam looked up at Dean with his big hazel eyes and asked, in earnest:

"Why doesn't Dad love us?"

Dean was taken aback by this question, it tugged at his heart that his little brother could think such a thing about the man he admired and aspired to be.

"Why would you... Why do you think that?" Dean's brows furrowed and he searched his brother's tired but curious face.

"He always leaves... He yells so much... He leaves us here all alone, doesn't tell us why, and moves us around so much... He can't love us if he's doing that, he can't."

Sam had a far-off look in his eye and a hint of pain was there as well, with his feelings of abandonment. If you listened close enough you could hear the cracks open up in Dean's heart. Hearing and seeing his Sammy's true feelings, that they were so painful to the eight-year-old, was almost too much for Dean. He didn't know whether to be more angry with their father or guilty for knowing more than Sam did about it all.

Dean sat fully on the bed, in his sock feet and leaning against the headboard beside Sam, legs outstretched. The big brother let out a breath and turned to look Sam in the eye.

"Dad does what he does because he loves us. He does what he does to protect us. He doesn't say it a lot, I mean, he doesn't really ever say it, but he does love us, Sammy. He just... Shows it in a way that you don't understand..." Dean hoped he was getting through to his brother, who was staring up at him with tears in his eyes. Why was he crying?

"B-but," Sam took in a shaky, tearful breath. "What if... What if he leaves us and doesn't come back?"

Tears were spilling freely down the boy's cheeks now. Dean's chest felt tight with sympathy and he scooted closer to Sam, putting an arm around him and pulling him close.

"He always comes back... And if, IF he doesn't, you can always count on me to be here... I won't ever leave you, Sammy."

Dean inhaled and looked down at his brother, who was clinging to him and shaking slightly. He rubbed his little brother's back and heard a mumbled sentence come from him.

"Hmm?" Dean leaned down to look at Sam's tearstained face that was peeking out from Dean's side.

"I love you, Dean."

"I love you too, Sammy."

"Dad went out on a hunting trip and he hasn't been home in a few days."

Those words echoed in Sam's mind every minute of every day that he spent looking for his father with Dean. His mind went back to that time when he was small, fearing what would happen to them if Dad never came back. Sure, Sam and Dean were adults now, fully independent and leading their own lives, but Sam couldn't picture a world without Dad in it.

What if the last time he saw his dad, the time before he left for Stanford, was the last time he would ever see him? And they hadn't parted in good terms whatsoever. Guilt bubbled in Sam's gut at every moment he thought of his father. Why couldn't he have been good enough for him?

It was late and Sam's mind was racing through every negative thing he'd ever done to wrong his father. He tossed and turned on the motel mattress, until pausing when his eyes fell on the sleeping form of his brother. Dean wasn't a graceful sleeper by any means, but Sam smiled and felt warm when he saw his brother lying there so peacefully.

His mind immediately returned to that time so long ago when he had been crying into a younger dean's shirt, terrified that they would be left alone after hearing Dad fight with Dean and leave in the middle of the night. He even recalled the words he had exchanged with his brother.

"Why doesn't Dad love us?"

The thought of those words made Sam's chest hurt. The fact that he had lived such a hard childhood, living in the dark and in danger for so long... The younger Winchester couldn't imagine any kid going through that and coming out okay.

He remembered then what Dean had said to comfort him:

"I won't ever leave you, Sammy."

This brought a pang of guilt to Sam, as he had left his brother behind to pursue his academics. They were back together now and that was what mattered most. Though it had been a number of years, one thing hadn't changed.

"I love you, Dean," Sam whispered into the dark room, barely above the sound of breath.


	3. 003 - Light

003\. Light

A flash of light, that's all he could remember. No sound, no feeling, nothing. Just an extremely bright flash of light.

Dean was tired. Actually, he was beyond tired; somewhere between exhaustion and unconsciousness probably described best how he felt. But he was restless too, and eager. Eager to chase new monsters and save more lives.

Sitting in his familiar place behind the steering wheel of the Impala, Dean watched the road disappear into the night before them. Of course, Sam had urged his brother to stay one more night at the motel they were in after seeing how tired he was after this last all night stakeout in a vampire nest. But Dean was impatient and stubborn, insisting he was fine.

"I'm good, seriously I'm fine."

"You don't look it, but whatever," Sam had shrugged. "At least let me drive?"

"Nope, not gonna happen. I said I'm fine." Dean stifled a yawn as he got into the driver's side.

That was almost two hours ago. The Winchesters were headed back to the bunker, and Sam was trying not to let his own sleeplessness get the best of him. He was trying to keep an eye on his brother, who had swerved close to the shoulder a couple of times already. The younger Winchester knew it wouldn't be too long before they were back at their home base, and he let himself relax a bit, stretching out his long legs and leaning back in his seat...

Dean felt odd, like he was floating, but sinking at the same time. He was warm, but felt a chill too. There were so many contradicting feelings going on that he didn't know what was up and what was down. He tried to take a deep breath in, but found he couldn't, and suddenly the confusing place he was in became very scary.

Again, he tried to breathe in, but instead felt pain and oh god he was suffocating... He couldn't breathe, he was being smothered and stifled and-

"Dean?"

He could hear someone call to him. Someone familiar... His brother! Sam! Dean tried calling back but found no sound would leave his lips. He tried again and again, and all he could get out was:

"Ssssmm..."

Dean felt something stuck in his throat and aha! yes this was why he couldn't breathe. He brought up his hand (when did his arms get so heavy?) to pull at whatever was in his throat but he couldn't seem to get his arm high enough.

It was just then that Dean could hear another sound, beeping. Steady, annoying beeping. It sounded like... A hospital. Was he in a hospital? How did he get here? Dean hated hospitals.

"Dean, you there?" Came Sam's voice again. "Can you open your eyes?"

Dean didn't even know his eyes weren't open. He tried to pry open his heavy lids and found himself met with a horribly bright light.

A bright light, rushing towards him, a feeling of fear, danger, and panic...

Dean gasped for breath and tried to get away from the light, the light was bad, it was worse than anything and it was-

Gone.

The light was gone.

"Hey, it's okay," Sam's voice spoke.

Dean trusted his brother and pried his eyes open once again and found himself in a comfortably dim hospital room. To his left sat a very concerned and tired Sam, sporting a cast on his left arm and a few cuts on his face. What happened?

The older Winchester tried to voice this question but couldn't seem to find his voice. He must've looked like a dead fish, trying to get his mouth around the words.

"Oh!" Sam reached for something beside him, it was a cup of water, and held it for Dean to take a drink from the straw. "Here."

After drinking a long slow sip of water, Dean found his voice had returned.

"What happened?" He couldn't remember a thing. He looked at his younger brother with a questioning expression.

"I-it's my fault..." Sam said, looking down with a quaver in his voice. "I-I should've been awake, I should've... Should've been able to tell you..."

"Tell me what?" Dean was even more confused, and saddened by what his brother was saying. He reached out a hand and placed it on Sam's knee.

"There was a pick-up truck... Speeding down the road in the left part of an intersection... I only woke up a few second before it hit... 'Cause of the headlights -those new LED ones -"

"The lights..." Dean said in wonderment. That's why he was so afraid when the lights were on, he was remembering the accident.

"You had just passed out at the wheel and I didn't... I couldn't stop you from veering towards the truck... We could've gotten out, you could've been safe an-"

"Sam, stop." Dean was fully understanding what had happened now. His little brother was blaming himself for the crash, meanwhile it was really Dean's fault for driving when he was that damn tired.

Sam looked at his brother with pain-filled hazel eyes. He spoke in a quiet voice.

"Your ribs... Two broke and one punctured your lung... They thought you might have brain damage from hitting your head so hard off the dash when the truck hit... You could've..."

"But I didn't. Sammy, I'm right here, you didn't lose me." Dean rubbed his thumb comfortingly across his brother's knee where his hand lay.

He sighed and shook his head. He was always putting Sam through so much shit.

"How long was I out?"

"Couple days..."

"And you...?"

"Waited here the whole time? Yeah, pretty much..." Sam cracked a small smile.

"Well I definitely have had enough sleep for awhile now," Dean tried to joke despite how crappy he felt. His chest and side hurt like hell and his head hurt even more. Probably needed more painkillers.

Sam let out a short laugh and scrubbed one hand down his face. Suddenly, Dean shot up in bed for a second, sitting straight up in shock then fell back with a groan of pain.

"What is it?" Sam's eyes were wide.

"The car... What happened to the damn car?"

Sam just laughed and shook his head. Classic Dean.


	4. 004 - Dark

004\. Dark

John Winchester and his oldest son Dean, who was 14, were headed out on a hunt - just another Friday night for their family. Ten-year-old Sam was back "home" at the motel they were staying at, most likely pouting for being left out.

John and Dean were carefully stalking through the local cemetery in the Georgian town they were in. All of the bodies residing in the graveyard were in crypts so as to keep them from getting ruined by the water and muck of the swampy land. There were looking for a certain family mausoleum, to burn the bones of a man who was haunting and harassing his daughter for marrying his rival's son.

"You see it?" Dean heard his father whisper. They had to keep it down since the cemetery was off-limits after dusk and it was far, far past nightfall.

They were looking for a crypt marked "Tulloch" and we're pretty deep into the graveyard and hadn't seen it. To be honest, Dean was getting bored and impatient and he just wanted to get the job done. He was eager to prove himself to his father at any chance he got and if he could take out a ghost tonight all on his own, he knew his dad would be proud.

"Hey, look," came John's voice again, snapping Dean from his thoughts. He looked to where his dad was pointing and saw a small crypt with "Tulloch" carved in the stone above the doors, which were chained and padlocked shut.

"Let's make this quick..." John raised his handgun and shot the padlock from the door.

"Someone probably heard that, you know," snarked Dean.

"Yes, I know, that's why we have to go fast. Come on."

Dean followed his dad, flashlight in hand, into the small space where the walls were embedded with sealed coffins, the resting places of all the Tullochs since the turn of the century.

"There it is," Dean had spotted the place where Hugh, the father of their client, was taking his eternal nap.

As John pried open the tomb, he left Dean to shine the flashlight out of the opened doorway and keep watch.

"Can you pass me that light? Barely see a damn thing..."

Dean tossed the flashlight to his dad and watched as his dad salted, poured gasoline on, and burned Hugh Tulloch's bones. Dean didn't even know why he had come on this hunt, he hadn't done a thing. He had hoped the ghost would have at least come back and put up a fight.

"Dad, we done here?" Dean asked with some disappointment as he returned to where his father stood at the back of the crypt.

"Yep..." John let out a breath and clapped his son on the shoulder. "What, you expecting something more exciting?"

Dean just sighed.

"Let's go," said his dad, leading the way from the mausoleum. Dean trudged behind him slowly...

The next events seemed to happen all at once:

John stepped outside the crypt, turning back to see why his son was taking so long.

The crypt's doors slammed shut, between John and his son.

Dean was plunged into complete darkness.

"Dean!" John pounded on the doors, but they wouldn't budge. The lock was gone but the doors were sealed by some force that was beyond his reckoning.

The boy inside the crypt couldn't even see his hand in front of his face. He backed up from the doors when he heard his dad pounding on them and tripped backwards over a shift in the stone floor, landing backwards and hitting his head off the ground. He didn't pass out but Dean felt a deep throbbing pain in the back of his skull. He pulled himself up off the ground slowly and swayed a bit when he got up at last.

"Dad?! Dad- I'm okay!" Dean called, it was a lie but he needed to say something to his father who was losing it outside the mausoleum.

The words did calm John down some, but the situation inside the crypt was about to get worse.

Inside, Dean was starting to get a little panicked in the dark. He was dizzy, hurt, disoriented and surrounded by dead bodies and stale air that reeked of smoke from the burning of the bones his father had performed. He didn't really have control over what was happening but he was undoubtedly slipping into a panic. It was dark. So dark. Too dark. He couldn't freaking see literally, or foresee a way of him ever getting out of this place.

Why wouldn't the doors open? Something must've been keeping them shit. Something... Supernatural...

That's when Dean noticed how very cold it was in the crypt; deathly cold. He tried to catch his breath and calm his nerves enough to turn around, and when he did he cried out in fear of what he saw.

A glowing, bluish green and translucent woman, dressed in her best clothes... Floating a few inches from the ground: a ghost.

She spoke to Dean, who was backing slowly to the door his father was on the other side of.

"My daughter... Betrayed us... Betrayed her father... Unforgivable, unforgivable!" She repeated the word until she was wailing it and approached Dean with her hands out and ready to choke the life out of him.

"DEAN!" John could hear all that was going on inside but if only he was in there, he could be saving his son.

As the cold and clammy hands of the ghost woman closed around Dean's throat, the boy closed his eyes and tried to think quickly and rationally.

How will I get out of this? How will I get out of this? His thoughts raced... And then he went limp. Hanging there, breath gone out of him, with the ghost's impossibly strong hands around his neck.

As the ghost tossed Dean's body aside, she started to retreat back to her tomb.

She screamed out in pain and shock when a heavy iron chain sliced through her midsection.

Dean had found the chain on the floor by the door, the chain that had been holding the doors to the crypt shut before his dad had shot it off.

The doors to the mausoleum burst open at John's hand (or fists) and he rushed inside, gun drawn and ready to fire. He lowered his weapon immediately when he saw his son grinning up at him, a chain wielded in his hands.

"Son, what happened?"

"Mrs. Tulloch's ghost happened. I took care of her though, see? Iron."

"Great job Dean, but she won't be gone long. Let's get out of here, you okay?"

"Yeah," Dean lied again, he was still shaken by his panic in the dark and his head still throbbed with a deep pain.

The two of them ran from the crypt and out the cemetery gates to the car waiting just outside. Once inside the car, John shook his head an turned to his son.

"So what really happened in there?"

Dean just shrugged and yawned.

"I took care of it, I told you..."

"Alright, you keep your secrets."

They were silent the rest of the drive to the motel, where they had adjoining rooms: one for the boys and one for John.

Dean entered his and Sam's room and found Sam fast asleep on top of the far bed, clothes still on and frowning. He must've gone to sleep pouting and waiting for them to return. Dean cracked a smile, and left the lights on when he flopped down to sleep in his own bed at last.

Just in case.


	5. 005 - Seeking Solace

**AN: Hey all! Here's the first part of a little arc involving a character from the SPN book "Coyote's Kiss". Sorry I didn't post for a few days, I was out of town… Hope these longer chapters will make up for it!**

005\. Seeking Solace

Xochi Cazadora didn't like the fact she would be losing more blood to perform the ritual, but she needed to contact the Winchesters, and the spirits on her tail were jamming her cell signal. The Aztec woman was bleeding badly from just under her ribcage from a deep wound inflicted by a spirit blade, a wound which if it killed her would curse Xochi tone a slave to the one who wielded the blade: the first soul who had made it through the seven levels of Mictlan - the lowest underworld in Aztec myth.

Xochi used her dagger to make a slit in the heart tattoo over the left side of her chest, and watched the drop of blood on the tip of the blade drip into the ceremonial fire she had created. Conditions weren't ideal, her keep was pulled over on the shoulder of a road much farther from the centre of any desert, but the woman was desperate. In her squatted position over the small fire, Xochi's side was screaming with hot pain. Though the wound felt hot and sticky as her blood soaked her tank top, there was a slow cold sapping through Xochi's body as her spirit began to cross over to Mictlan.

As the smoke rose from the fire, Xochi tapped into her psychic abilities and focused them on finding Sam and Dean's location. Strange, they were in the exact middle of the continental U.S., and both were sleeping. It was about 3am after all. Xochi sent a vision of herself into Dean's dream, showing her injury and a sense of deep urgency that she needed their help and sanctuary from the Aztec's dead.

The ritual drained Xochi's energy greatly, more than she would have liked. She cursed in Spanish as she stood up and limped to her Jeep. The woman kept her mind open to the Winchesters' location even as the fire faded away. She started up the vehicle and began driving north, hoping she would make it there by morning.

Dean was asleep in his bedroom in the bunker, a dreamless sleep so far, until suddenly a familiar figure was walking towards him through the dreamy grey fog. She was limping more than walking, Dean realized, as if wounded. It was his friend, hunter and almost-lover Xochi, whom he and his brother had helped on a case down in Mexico a couple years before.

"Xochi?" Dean called to her and reached out to grip her shoulders before she fell. There was a deep wound in her side, bleeding profusely. The woman felt very cold to Dean's touch, as if already dead.

"Dean... Please, you must help me...I am in Wichita, heading for you. I might not make it... I'll explain more..."

Dean 's eyes went wide as Xochi faded away into the mist. He shook himself awake as fast as he could and practically leapt from his bed. Pulling on whatever clothes he got his hands on - flannel shirt, jeans, jacket, boots - Dean tried to be at least somewhat quiet as he made his way to the door so as to not alert his brother. He quickly scrawled a note for Sam and left it on the table among his little brother's research books:

'Xochi needs us. Back with her soon. Don't worry. D'

It was near half past 3am now, and Dean set out south with the impala rumbling beneath him, first aid kit in the passenger seat, and hoping to spot Xochi's black jeep on the highway eventually... And before it was too late.

Xochi's vision was fading and she felt a terrible chill over her entire body. Her right arm was going numb, coming from her wound on that side. She had been driving (and bleeding) for about an hour and a half now and was genuinely surprised she had lasted this long. She was attacked way back at the Oklahoma/Kansas border, but she knew her injury was meant to kill slowly, as it was an injury of magical properties.

The woman was shivering now, and quite violently. She nearly let out a sob as she pulled over, defeated and giving up on reaching her friends. She took the keys out of her Jeep's ignition and shook as she let herself out of the vehicle. If she was gonna die, she was gonna die under the stars. She limped slowly away from her parked Jeep and up the shoulder of the road to a large dying tree that grew there.

She suddenly felt a sharp cold pain stab her in the side, and she cried out, throwing one hand towards the tree for balance. There were black spots swimming before her eyes and the ground rushed up to meet her.

Dean felt relief and panic simultaneously rush over him when, after almost an hour and a half of speeding down the empty highway, he saw the black shadowy shape of Xochi's Jeep looming out of the night at the side of the road. The side of the road? Why had she pulled over? Dean feared the worst, pulled a turn to park behind the Jeep, and, grabbing the first aid kit, ran from his car to Xochi's.

He found the driver's side door ajar, and no one in sight. He looked ahead past the vehicle and saw a tree lurking there, stark white and free of any bark as it was dying at the side of the road. Down at the foot of the tree Dean could spot a dark shape on the ground in a heap.

"Shit! Xochi!" Dean exclaimed, running ahead to where his friend had evidently collapsed.

He found her face down on the gravel, one hand touching the bottom of the tree's trunk, barely breathing. When Dean carefully turned the deathly cold woman over to her back, he saw a long deep cut in her side that was bleeding a great deal. The hunter quickly got to work on dressing the wound as best he could, using re flashlight function of his phone (which read NO SERVICE for some reason) for light.

Dean knew the woman needed a hospital, and badly too. The nearest one was almost two hours away, farther than the bunker, and Dean also knew that the hospital probably didn't stand a chance saving his friend from a most-likely supernatural wound. He wrapped Xochi in his jacket and gingerly lifted the cold, limp woman from the ground, walking quickly back to the impala.

Dean reclined the passenger seat and propped Xochi up in it. It would be easier to keep an eye on her that way. As Dean climbed into the driver's side, and turned the key in the ignition, the rumble of the car made Xochi stir. She moaned in pain but didn't open her eyes.

"Shhh, it's alright." Dean spoke reassuringly, reaching out his right hand to rest on the woman's shoulder.

When they were pulling into Lebanon, the Aztec woman stirred again, this time struggling to open her eyes.

"D-Dean," she whispered through chattering teeth. "N-no hospital..." The woman's breathing was laboured.

"Don't worry, no hospitals." Dean said gently. A ghost of a smile passed Xochi's face as she lost consciousness again.

It was just dawn when Dean pulled up outside the bunker. He got out of the car and lifted Xochi from her place once again. His arms full, the older Winchester kicked the door with a a few hard jabs in hopes his brother was awake and would hear. When no answer came, Dean grumbled an apology to the passed-out Xochi and sighed as he laid her carefully in the dirt. He rummaged for his key in his pocket and unlocked the door to the bunker. He picked up his wounded friend again as carried her inside, kicking the door closed behind him.

Dean made his way swiftly to one of the spare bedrooms in the bunker and laid Xochi down on its bed. Taking his coat from her, he noticed she had bled through her dressing.

"Shit... Who did this to you?" The hunter muttered.

He noticed that Xochi's breath was now coming in shaky gasps. Dean needed to know who or what had done this so that he could save her. He needed Sam. The older brother went quickly to Sam's room, pounding on the door.

"Sammy, wake up we have a situa-"

The door opened in Dean's face and an astonished and sleepy Sam looked down at him.

"What is it? What's going on?"

Dean explained all that he knew, right from the dream Xochi had sent him until dropping her off in one of the spare rooms in the bunker. Sam followed his brother to a storage closet where they kept medical supplies. Dean filled his arms with what he needed and listened to his brother as he spoke.

"Right, I'm guessing it's Aztec so I'll go get the mythology books and my laptop and meet you there."

Dean nodded to his brother and entered the room where Xochi lay. She had her eyes open and was staring up at the ceiling like it was caving in.

"Hey, Xochi," Dean said quietly as he set up his stuff on the room's desk. After years of avoiding hospitals, he knew how to treat a fair amount of injuries.

In response, the Aztec woman just took in a shaky breath and shivered harder.

"I'm gonna change your dressing, 'kay?" Dean said as he approached the bed. He carefully lifted Xochi's white (bloodstained) tank top up from her stomach and winced sympathetically at the sight of the soaked bandage. He carefully peeled off the tape and gauze from the area and replaced it with clean bandages. The entire area around the wound felt ice cold and looked like the flesh of a long-dead corpse. Dean was sincerely worried, to the point that he didn't notice his brother standing beside him with just as much worry written across his features.

When Sam had first met Xochi, he wasn't in possession of his soul, and now that he could feel and remember things again, he really felt bad for his friend.

"We should try to keep her warm, keep an eye on her while I try to figure out what it is..."

Sam went over to the floor on the other side of the bed and set down the books he was holding and leaned against the wall, beginning to look through the Aztec book while at the same time booting up his laptop.

Dean went and washed his hands, disposed of the old dressings, and fetched some heavier blankets from a closet. He brought them to Xochi, who was still staring up at the ceiling and shivering. As Dean laid the blankets over her gently, she surprisingly turned to look at him:

"Th-Thank you..." She rasped.

"Hey, don't worry about it," Dean brushed some stray hair from Xochi's face. "We're not gonna let you die, okay? I promise."

Xochi sighed and turned to Sam, who looked up with that soft sympathy in his hazel eyes.

"Sam... Your s-soul..?"

"I'm alright now," Sam assured her. He felt guilty for asking, but he voiced his question anyways: "Do you know what did this to you?"

Xochi nodded, and breathed hard for a moment before speaking.

"The warrior of M-Mictlan... I opened the gateway... to the underworld to f-find my sister... He wants my s-spirit for his ranks... His blade... His-his blade-" Xochi broke off in a cough, and began to gasp for air.

Sam winced, feeling even more guilty for asking. Dean frowned deeply and took Xochi's hand, rubbing it until the coughing passed. She must have tired herself out, for she lost consciousness again despite the violent shivering.

A short moment passed, silent but for Xochi's wheezing breath and the clicking of Sam's keyboard.

"Got it!" Came Sam's loud voice, causing Dean to jump.

"What is it?" He hissed, before Sam went into his research rant:

"The warrior of Mictlan, the first soul to survive the nine levels of the Aztec underworld, wields a deadly blade that inflicts a cursed wound to all who suffer it. The wounded will grow cold, bleeding out slowly, as their soul becomes a part of the warrior's army..."

"Okay so how to we stop it?" Came Dean's gruff and urgent voice. "How the hell do we save her?"

"We have to summon Xolotl... The one who guides souls through the nine levels... Says here he can send souls back to our world if we pass his test..."

"So, what's the test?"

"One who has two spirits must give one up... To the warrior of Mictlan."

"Who the hell has two spirits?" Dean threw his hands up in frustration.

Xochi's quiet voice came from the bed.

"S-Sam... Remember what the two-spirit said t-to you in M-Mexico?"

Sam's heart dropped to his stomach.

He had two spirits.


End file.
